Paris Forever

Mike's final forceful thrust sent Fleurette's squeal of orgasmic rapture soaring into the Parisian night.

Mike, fingers skimming warm breasts, eased his weight off her. Despite his having little French, she had to know. "C'est fini," he growled.

"Finis? Mais pourquoi?"

Mike sighed. Wildly demanding all night, Fleurette needed to realise that this could not go on.

Her eyes showed dismay. His softness slithered out of her, leaving an empty cavern, a heaving heart, and a wet thigh. "Je t'aime, Mike. Ma vagin sera si seul. Regard ca te pleure deja."

Mike could not understand a word she said, but guessed, by the way she parted her thighs and pointed, just what she meant. Her sweet pussy was weeping both of their juices.

He longed to find renewed strength as her fingers stroked his limp cock and her mouth offered to favour him once more. God, she was the sexiest, shapeliest, most ardent woman he had ever known. From meeting her on that boat ride up the Seine, having her respond instantly to his touching her breast, they had spent three weeks caressing, sucking and fucking each other.

He had often thought about how great it would be if they had a language connection. But she had little English and he had even less French, and this he'd been telling himself that sensuous as their relationship was, it lacked that major component, with words of love.

On the following day his business would take him to Rome and then on to Lisbon. Normally he would be hurrying back to Fleurettte hot welcome. But this was the chance to make a clean break. Marvellous as it had been he was beginning to consider the future.

Fleurette's ministrations were beginning to have an effect. Well, maybe one last glorious, goodbye fuck!

~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~~

Winter was over, yet the Paris drizzle had remained into April. Little sun, and the dark grey skies matched the mood of Mike as he scanned each passing seductive female. Paris is so large. His failure to find one beautiful, much- beloved, face after seven months searching was dragging him down.

Seven months added to the three years since he'd last been in Paris. When his firm opened an office in the heart of the city, they offered him the management. He had jumped at the chance, not just of career advancement but of rectifying the gross error he had made those years ago.

He had travelled the world, meeting and often bedding women of every race creed and colour. But too slowly he had realised that none could compare with the woman he now desperately hunted. There was only one Fleurette.

Now as the drizzle continued, he strolled into Boulevard Montagne and headed for his favourite café, Manion's, which held many memories and where he had searched many times during these months. Always without a sign.

But on this day, even though the sky remained grey, he was struck by instant sunlight.

"Mike! Can it be you, at last?" That unmistakable sultriness of voice, and the bright-eyed lovely face. His heart performed a dance at the sight of that curvaceous figure in the summer dress..

"Fleurette? Yes, it's me. Idiot Mike. I'm surprised you even want to speak to me." So gorgeous in yellow. Gorgeous out of it, as he'd learned so many times all those months ago.

Mike breathed in deeply, "But you're speaking English."

Fleurette stood up from the table where she'd sat alone. "Ah, yes," she whispered. "We let language split us apart. I took a course in English."

She came and pressed against him, her thigh pushing between his. And there in the crowded café they kissed their so familiar passionate kiss. Their audience applauded as their lips parted but their bodies clung. Eyes clouded, Fleurette looked up into his, "I recognise your hardness," she sighed wriggling against it. "I've missed it so much."

"You've had no one else?" he asked with some trepidation.

"No one comparable. You?"

He laughed, joy welling inside him, "No one good enough."

They sat, sipped coffee, and gazed at each other, craving to touch more than just hands. So much time to make up, their minds mutually leaping ahead.

Fleurette laid her hand over his, as she asked, "Where is--" she paused, "--your hotel?"

"Just around the corner. Big room."

"I'm dying to see the size of it."

"It's just a bedroom," he said.

Fleurette giggled, "I didn't mean the room."

Mike laughed, slowly standing, he stooped and whispered, "I'm having a house built. But for now, to my hotel?"

Fleurette nodded eagerly, "Ah--privacy!" She glanced out to the street. "Oh, it's raining."

Mike was surprised to notice it was more than just drizzle that hit the pavement. He laughed and held up his umbrella

Then, hunched close together, they hurried out into the downpour. The rhythmic patter on the canvas over their heads was almost soothing, especially when they paused on the corner to share a warm kiss, as though they couldn't wait.

And they couldn't. Hurrying to his up-market room, Mike held the door to hang out the "Do Not Disturb" sign. No interference of what he hoped was to follow. Turning, he was surprised to see a damp yellow dress draped over a chair, but his eyes were swiftly drawn passed it to the naked figure, standing arms spread wide in the pale light filtering from the rain-stippled window.

Fleurette's exquisite body, moved slowly, seductively towards him. Those pink-tipped nipples already hard, he'd wager. His fingers itched to nip at them. He remembered how she loved that. And, below her waxed mound, the first hint of that sweet, creamy crevice, that already had him licking his lips.

Then she was upon him, and their mouths and tongues meshed, as they fought for the supremacy of space. Her hands groped for his belt buckle, while his hands clutched her wonderful buttocks, fingering into her crack, a first entry. He pulled her too close for any unbuckling.

When she breathlessly implored him, he relaxed his grip, his belt came undone and his pants fell. Fleurette was instantly on her knees, gripping the solidity of him.

"Oh, it is. It is."

"What?"

"As big as ever."

"Oh, I doubt---Aaagh." His gasp came as she rolled her tongue over and around his throbbing smooth glans. Looking down he saw her lips gape as she moved to swallow his eager cock.

Hell, she did it so well, and her cheeks bulged under the pressure of his cock. Her tongue licked, and then came that deliberate, exquisite sucking that threatened to empty him.

Mike guided her head away, and bent to pick her up bodily, to place her, wide-legged on the bed, taking a moment to enjoy the open pink wetness of her pussy. Then, he was over her, into her, with his full length.

"Mike, Mike. Mike!" She almost sobbed his name, as they plunged and threshed all over the bed. So much frustration for all those years had them rushing towards their massive climax.

Mike was pulsing just before she heaved, and it was a delight for him to hear Fleurette's squeal of orgasmic rapture once more.

A short rest together then an agreed, touchy, feely, soaping of each other in the shower. And later, together they learned the control, the ecstasy of their promised love and lives together.

"Fuck me, pour toujours," Fleurette sighed,

"You know I will," Mike told her. "And I excuse your French."